This weekend, I got fed up. Not just a little fed up. Ranting, raving, ready to throw things fed up.
I'm fed up with people calling Barack Obama a Muslim, as though that makes him less of an American, less of a person. I'm fed up with people saying they won't vote for that "black boy," regardless of what his stand on the important issues is. I'm fed up with the "Yes on 8" propaganda (the California proposition to redefine marriage) that I see every time I turn on the television.
I'm fed up with us, as Americans, believing that a label is actually a window to a person's character.
Senator Obama has done everything possible to make it clear that he is a Christian, not a Muslim. What I want to know is why the hell it matters? Yes, the individuals who perpetrated the attacks on September 11, the attack on the U.S.S. Cole, and so many other attacks, did so in the name of Islam. Just like the Christians killed thousands of people in the crusades, all in the name of Christianity.
There are millions of Americans, Americans who also happen to be Muslims, who proudly pledge allegiance to the American flag every day. Millions who wept right along with Christians and Jews and Buddhists and athiests on the day of the September 11 attacks.
So why does the label "Muslim" matter? Particularly when it's applied to someone so clearly devoted to America and the ideals many of us represent? What are we afraid of?
In a country that so proudly preaches separation of church and state, but then applies Christian morality to legislation, perhaps we are afraid that we are going to have to reexamine how closely we have maintained the principles this nation was founded on. Perhaps we are going to have to look at our own religious views, and perhaps we are afraid that we will see that there is no place for the prejudice and stereotyping that we so desperately cling to. Perhaps we will have to see that in a nation of many, a single god doesn't get to be the predominant influence.
I am currently reading
To Kill a Mockingbird. At one point in the novel, the teacher is discussing the difference between a dictatorship and a democracy. When she asks the children what democracy is, Scout defines it as "Equal rights for all, special privileges for none."
By that definition, America is not a democracy.
Proponents of Proposition 8 are setting out to ban gay marriage under the guise of a proposition that will protect the "traditional" definition of marriage. A domestic partnership is not the same as a marriage. To say that I am disgusted that this is even on the ballot would be a gross understatement. It is, frankly, none of my business what another person's relationship is or who they marry.
Proponents of Proposition 8 are claiming that our children would be forced to learn about same sex marriage in schools. As a teacher and a parent, I am fairly familiar with the curriculum at nearly every grade level in California, though I will admit to being hazy on 6th-8th grades. And never once, in all that curriculum, have I seen a lesson that requires teachers to discuss the definition of marriage, much less same-sex marriage, with students.
I do not begrudge religious institutions that wish to ban same sex marriage. As far as I'm concerned, religion is a choice we make, not a mandate we are required to live by (as legislation is). Religion is what dictates the morality we
choose. And if banning gay marriage is your idea of a moral choice, I won't infringe on your right to believe that any more than I would infringe on someone's right to get married.
But if we are truly a democracy, if we truly adhere to the principles on which this nation was founded, there is no room for any religion in state or federal legislation.
I wonder what has led to this particular proposition, what fear is fueling it.
Perhaps we fear that if our students are taught what the state legislation says about marriage, we might actually have to take the time to sit down with them and teach them about our own morality. We might have to put down the newspaper, turn off the television, hang up the phone, and talk to our children. And in doing so, we might have to answer their questions about why we believe what we do. We might have to look our children in the eye and justify our own prejudices.
Perhaps we fear that someday, one of our own children will come home and announce to us that he or she is gay or lesbian. And then, we will have to choose between our own sense of morality and our love for our children. And maybe that scares some of us.
Or maybe we are afraid that if we don't create a scapegoat, we will actually have to stare down the issues that exist in all marriages, the issues that have led to over 50% of the marriages in this country failing. Perhaps we will have to look at what is wrong with our own beliefs and morality and actions, and that scares us.
The teacher in
To Kill a Mockingbird continues, comparing democracy to the German government under Hitler. She says, "Over here we don't believe in persecuting anybody. Persecution comes from people who are prejudiced."
As I talk to my students about the novel, we talk about how far we have come as a nation in the 75+ years since the Scottsboro Trials that helped inform Harper Lee's portrayal of the South. We talk about interracial marriage being illegal under Jim Crow, and how far we've come by having an interracial presidential candidate.
But have we really come all that far? Have we really come so far when we are still trying to make certain marriages illegal? Have we really come so far when the concept of race is a predominant issue on our election?
We cower under the label "prejudice." It's ugly. It's not something we want to define us. And yet, aren't we all prejudiced in some way? Don't we all make preconceived judgments? It is part of our humanity to do so.
What is also part of that humanity is letting go of that prejudice when it does lead to persecution. Letting go of that prejudice when it means we vilify others for their beliefs. Letting go of that prejudice when we believe that someone's appearance dictates their character and abilities. Letting go of that prejudice when it comes to the basic rights of other human beings to live their lives as they choose.
There are plenty of things in this world that I fear. I fear earthquakes. I fear that someone will come into my house and take my children on those dark nights when the power goes out. I can admit that some of my fears are irrational. I can admit that some of my fears have no basis in reality. I can also admit that the root of some of my fears lies in my own shortcomings as a person, a wife, and a mother.
What I can't understand is our fear of labels. Our fear of words like "Muslim" or "black" or "gay." Words that do little more than define a group. If we want to know what people believe, what their character is, we need to listen to what they say, not what is said about them. We need to let go of our own preconcieved ideas, our own prejudice.
And in doing so, we need to really ask ourselves what we're afraid of.
If those faces don't bring me good luck, nothing will.
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